


A Little Dramatic

by aligningplanets



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Danny's POV, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Idiocy, Mutual Pining, Strong Bloody Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aligningplanets/pseuds/aligningplanets
Summary: Nicholas has a new best friend. Danny thinks he's a pillock. Doris thinks they both need to stop being so thick.





	A Little Dramatic

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Hot Fuzz, last night, and fell in love with Nick and Danny, again.
> 
> The last time I wrote fanfic was around 6 years ago. Be gentle.

After The Blunderbuss Incident (or ‘That fucking psychopathic tosser with his fuck-old musket who got every fucking inch had had fucking coming to him’ as Nicholas had called it), Danny had been signed off for an appropriate four-to-six months. He had hoped, at the beginning, that he’d be back to the station within four but since chests don’t tend to like being filled full of shrapnel at close range (‘Fucking astonishing,’ Nicholas had deadpanned) it had taken closer to seven. And he was really starting to feel like he was going stir crazy.

Everyone had visited him. Constantly. In fact, it seemed like the whole Police Force Service had clubbed together on Operation Keep Danny Occupied. He guessed it had something to do with his dad being found head of a band of mass murderers Hell-bent on decimating the already small population of Sandford and, subsequently, imprisoned for a Very Long Time Indeed. Maybe. Danny didn’t mind, though. He liked being kept in the loop of all the goings on.

Doris popped round every two or three days for a cuppa and was always sure to bring round something home-baked from her mum. Danny could hardly get through the mountains of buns, cakes and scones that she’d leave with him. He’d slimmed down a lot during his time in hospital but Doris seemed focussed on getting him back to his pre-injury weight.

Walker and Fisher dropped in every so often. Fisher always brought news from the castle where the gristly mass grave was still being excavated. Walker mainly talked about Saxon; he’d taken himself on a walk sometime near the beginning of Danny’s confinement and had got busy with a local husky bitch.

‘Dunn oawut tadowi vapuppies,’ Walker had grumbled around month three of Danny being locked away.

Danny had opened his mouth to offer to take one (or two - they were so bloody _cute_ ) but Nicholas had jumped in.

‘Absolutely not, Danny. You can’t look after a puppy. You can’t walk to the shops.’

‘Oh, but—’ he’d protested.

‘No.’

‘Soo tyer sel,’ Walker had shrugged and sloped off home.

Even Andy and Andy had dropped in once or twice, albeit briefly, since Nicholas always turfed them out as soon as one of them lit up a cigarette.

It was Nicholas who kept Danny company most of the time. He had changed his route so that his morning jog went past Danny’s and always stopped for a spot of breakfast (Danny kept a few types of herbal tea in the cupboard, now) then he’d jog to the station. He also went round after work almost every day and caught Danny up over dinner and a film.

Around month five, after Nicholas had cleared away the pizza boxes and forcibly replaced the unopened lager that Danny had retrieved from the fridge with a glass of orange juice (‘Got to keep your immune system cooking on gas, Danny.’), Nicholas sighed heavily and told him about the phone call he’d had from Buford Abbey Constabulary, that day.

‘Apparently, we “can’t cope with the volume paperwork the investigation and its aftermath has generated”,’ Nicholas scoffed and air-quoted. ‘So, they’re going to “patch in a support officer for the period of Sergeant Butterman’s rest”. A support officer! Like we need that. We’re coping just fine.’

Danny secretly thought that the station may be but Nicholas wasn’t. Over the past few months, Nicholas had looked more and more tired; large bags had grown under his eyes and near-permanent crease had formed between his eyebrows, where he’d spent hours at a time frowning over forms. But it wasn’t Danny’s decision. It, clearly, wasn’t Nicholas’ either because, less than a fortnight later, PC Derek Spafford had (reportedly) joined the Sandford Police Force Service.

He’d taken over Danny’s space on the beat which he was quite happy about. Nicholas seemed to like the bloke and Danny enjoyed listening to happier stories about what he and Derek had got up to while patrolling the, now infinitely safer, village streets. And Nicholas had started looking a lot healthier since PC Spafford had taken over some of the weight of paperwork.

* * *

Danny fiddled with the cuff of his navy police-issue jumper, outside the station. It was his first day back and, while he felt a million times better than he had a few months ago, he had a strange churning sensation in his stomach. These were his _friends_. They liked him. They’d all (well, not the Andys) been saying how much they were looking forward to him coming back. Nicholas had even allowed him to have one very small half of lager, last night, in celebration of his return.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the new town-hall-cum-police-station.

‘Danny!’ Doris enveloped him in a hug almost immediately and he felt a wave of relief as his colleagues greeted him with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

This was fine. He knew it’d be fine. It’d be like nothing had ever happened. Like he’d never even been away.

‘Welcome back, Sergeant Butterman,’ Nicholas was beaming at him from the doorway of what Danny assumed was the new Chief Inspector’s Office. ‘Let’s get you settled at your desk.’

A few minutes later, Danny was testing out his new office chair.

‘Good to be back?’ Nicholas smiled at him.

‘Yeah,’ Danny grinned back. They stood there for a moment, just smiling at each other before Danny cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Look, Nick. Thanks for everything. I mean it. I don’t think I’d’ve survived without—’

A small cough sounded and then Nicholas was focussing his brilliant smile on someone else.

‘Ah, yes! Danny, this is PC Derek Spafford: he’s on loan from Buford Abbey Constabulary. PC Spafford, Sergeant Danny Butterman has just returned from time off for an injury sustained in the line of duty.’

For some reason, Danny had always imagined PC Spafford to be a little like his dad; a kindly, older chap only a few years away from retirement. Maybe a head of fluffy, grey hair and a slightly portly figure born of too many pints down the pub. The man Danny was currently shaking hands with was not, in fact, like that at all.

PC Spafford was tall and broad with a wide, strong-looking chest and dazzlingly blue eyes. His dark hair was gelled into a side-parting above sharp cheekbones, perfectly white teeth and a chiselled jawline.

‘Great to finally meet you, Sergeant,’ he said, warmly. He spoke with a deep, Brummie accent and had a strong, dependable handshake.

‘You don’t sound like you’re from Buford,’ Danny replied, stupidly.

‘Don’t make ‘em like that in Buford,’ Doris called from across the station.

Derek laughed heartily and Danny felt a twinge of annoyance. It wasn’t _that_ funny, jumped-up git.

‘No. I’m not. Got transferred from the big smoke, just like Carrot Top, here,’ he slung an arm around Nicholas’ shoulders as he said this.

_Oh, shit,_ Danny winced internally. Full contact _and_ a nickname? This could get _ugly_.

But, to his surprise, Nicholas simply smiled.

‘Yes, Derek did his training in Birmingham and, like me, his arrest record was _simply too effective_ so he was put out to pasture,’ Nicholas explained, not that Danny heard much of it. He was too focussed on the arm that Derek still hadn’t removed from around Nicholas’ shoulders. ‘Anyway, we’ve got to get on the beat.’

‘Oh, yeah! Can’t wait to get back on it. Are we on our old –‘ Danny began but Nicholas cut across him.

‘No, Danny. Not you. Sorry, mate. You may be off garden leave but you’re still on desk duty for the time being until we get the full OK from the hospital.’

Danny felt himself slump a little.

‘Oh. No. That’s...that’s fine. Totally fine. I understand.’

Derek winked at him, his arm still around Nicholas.

‘Can’t have you getting shot again, eh?’

He laughed that annoyingly hearty laugh again and Danny forced out a couple of weak chuckles.

‘Yeah. No. Sure. I’ll, um...see you when you get back, then.’

‘Good man. See you outside, Nicky,’ Derek clapped Danny forcefully on the shoulder as he walked past.

_Nicky?_

‘Right,’ Nicholas nodded at him. ‘There’s some paperwork on your desk - just bits and pieces that I couldn’t fill out because they need your statement or signature. See you later.’ And then he bustled out.

Danny stood, staring after him, feeling a little like something important and terrible had just happened. A lead weight had replaced the churning sensation in his stomach. It felt, a little, if he was going to be dramatic about it, as if someone had taken out his heart and replaced it with one of those small, hollow capsules you get inside Kinder Eggs.

An arm looped through his and started steering him towards the hall’s tired kitchen.

‘Come on, love. Let’s get you a cup of tea and a slice of my mum’s fruit cake,’ said Doris, kindly.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident. Danny felt oddly content.

It was nice to be getting back into the swing of things, even if he was buried under an avalanche of paperwork.

It was nice to listen to Fisher and Doris nattering good-naturedly about everything from what Doris’ sister’s best friend’s daughter’s son was getting up to these days, to which Turner had taken the last scone from the kitchen.

It was nice to watch Walker scold Saxon after he’d got into the fridge and eaten two-thirds of the pork pie Walker had brought in for lunch.

I was nice to watch the Andys fill hours doing absolutely nothing except smoking, sucking down cups of coffee, and playing match upon match of Manchester United Top Trumps.

It was nice. Very nice. But Danny couldn’t help but notice that the heavy, sick feeling in his gut was still there.

He also noticed it get exponentially worse at exactly 17:08, which, coincidentally, was _exactly_ the time that PC Spafford and Inspector Angel waltzed back into the station laughing enthusiastically. Nicholas, in particular, looked for all the world like he’d just had The Beat of His Life.

Danny was reminded forcefully of the beats they’d shared in Nicholas’ first few weeks in Sandford. He’d never laughed like that with Danny. In fact, at the end of their first shared shifts, Nicholas had always seemed irritated and keen to get away. He mentally shook himself and smiled at Nicholas but, instead of stopping by Danny’s desk to enquire about his day as Danny had expected him to, he and PC Spafford simply sailed past and into Nicholas’ office, continuing their conversation. The door shut and Danny felt the smile slide off his face; bounce off the desktop, and volley itself into the waste paper bin.

What the _fuck_ was that about?

Doris caught his eye from the desk opposite and gave him a look that managed to convey ‘I’m sure he’s just busy’; ‘We both know he’s a prat’, and ‘You alright, love?’ all in one go.

Danny attempted to send her one that said ‘He’s always busy’; ‘Don’t I know it’, and ‘Pssh, sure, why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Oh, Danny Boy!’ shouted Cartwright. ‘Those pain tablets giving you constipation or are you just trying to remember how to spell your name?!’

Both he and Wainwright lost it; guffawing madly like a pair of twattish 16 year olds over their third game of Go Fish. Doris rolled her eyes.

‘Fuck _off_ ,’ Danny said and turned back to his work.

* * *

‘Pub?’

Danny was in the changing room, halfway through switching into his civvies. He looked up from tying his laces. Nicholas had just walked in and was unclipping his standard-issue tie; popping open the buttons on his standard-issue shirt.

‘Am I allowed to drink now?’

‘Yeah but don’t go mad. You know what the doctor said.’

‘Oh, come on, Nick, don’t be a fascist,’ Danny whined.

A smile tugged at Nicholas’ lips, which he quickly hid by turning and opening his locker.

‘Anyway, we’ve got work tomorrow. Hangovers seriously impair one’s ability to produce work at one’s full efficacy.’

‘Ah. Ah. _But_ ,’ Danny said with the air of a man who was just about to land a devastatingly logical blow. ‘ _What_ if one never works at one’s full efficacy?’

Nicholas laughed.

‘You’ve got me there, Sergeant Butterman. So, pub?’

‘Can’t fucking wait, mate,’ he said. If he was going to be dramatic about it, he’d say he felt his heart soar.

‘Great. Derek’s coming, too,’ said Nicholas, pulling a grey jumper over his head. Danny’s heart crash landed onto the pavement; slid for several feet sustaining a grievous road rash, and came to a stop against a particularly foul-smelling bin. ‘And I’ll grab everyone else. We’ll make a night of it.’

_No, no. This is fine._ Danny thought, after Nicholas had walked out to hail everyone else at the station. _This’ll be fine. This’ll be totally fine._

* * *

It was terrible.

Danny sat at one end of ‘their table’ in The Crown, wedged between Doris and Wainwright, and tried to not send scathing glances at Derek (‘No, seriously, Danny, call me Dez – everyone else does’) who had taken His Seat.

_His Seat_.

It was the seat opposite Nick at the end of the table nearest the bar and it was _his._ He always sat there. Or, at least, he always had since Nick had arrived; since they had become friends. _Best_ friends.

And now this... _handsome, charming twat_ had taken his seat. Danny was fuming.

_Dez_ had absorbed Nick in conversation the moment they had left the station and the pair hadn’t stopped laughing and joking the whole night. Now, Danny was four pints in and was starting to feel a bit neglected. Which was ridiculous, right? They were friends. Nick was allowed to have other friends. Even if those friends were staggeringly good-looking and _completely hilarious_ city-folk with big grins and booming laughs. Danny winced as Dez’s laugh rang out over the pub, completely overwhelming Nick’s gently melodic one.

‘Danny?’

‘Huh?’ he started and turned to look at Doris.

‘I said, are you alright, love?’ she looked mildly amused. ‘Only you’ve been staring down that end for about ten minutes.’

Had he? Whoops.

‘No. Yeah. No, I’m fine,’ he forced a smile. ‘Completely fine.’

Doris nodded amiably.

‘I think he’s a total prick,’ she said, in a matter of fact tone, as Dez roared with laughter again.

‘ _No. What? Derek?_ No, he’s...’ he faltered then shrugged. ‘F...fine.’

He took a long pull from his pint to disguise the blatant lie. When he put the empty glass down, Doris was still watching him.

‘Look, Dan,’ she said, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her over the noise of the pub. ‘He doesn’t realise. He doesn’t know. If he knew what you felt, then he wouldn’t be doing it.’

‘Who know what?’ Danny asked, with a slightly drunken waver. ‘Do what? Doris, what’re you talking about?’

Through a slight alcoholic fog, Danny saw her give him a meaningful look which quickly turned into a pitying one.

‘Oh, love. _Really?_ ’

‘Wha—‘

‘Right, I’m offski,’ Dez announced, loudly, to the pub at large. ‘Got to get to Bedfordshire if I want to be fresh tomorrow.’

‘Good shout,’ Nicholas agreed, standing. ‘Danny, d’you want to grab a film?’

Danny’s heart had found its feet again and was taxiing for take-off. Yes, a film. Watching a film together would be _exactly_ what he’d need.

‘Remember, our jog, Nicky,’ Dez nudged him with his shoulder. ‘I’m not carrying you through 5k if you don’t sleep properly.’

Danny’s heart crashed into a tree.

_They went on jogs together?_

‘Actually, Nicholas, I’m alright,’ he found himself saying. ‘Fancy another, y’know.’

For a split second, Nicholas looked a little crestfallen but he rallied quickly.

‘That’s fair enough. First time out, after all. See you tomorrow.’

The last sentence held a slight question, which was odd considering that they worked together.

Dez clapped Danny energetically on the shoulder, again, as they walked towards the exit and Danny avoided Nicholas’ eye, turning back to Doris instead, who was now talking to Fisher about how her mum’s gerberas had fared through the spring’s unseasonable cold snap.

He was really starting to dislike Dez and he had no idea why; he was a perfectly affable fella, after all. There was just...something about him. Something in the way he laughed enthusiastically along to _every single_ joke that Nick made, even the ones that were only vaguely amusing. ( _Maybe he was angling for a promotion?_ )

Something in the way he had a casual arm round Nick’s shoulder half the time; the lingering pats on Nick’s back for encouragement. ( _Maybe he was just one of them touchy-feely people?_ )

And there was something about _him_. Something about his wide, handsome smile, and his deep blue, handsome eyes, and his perfectly styled, handsome hair, and his figure that was so athletic that he wore a _skin_ to the _pub_ as if it was a _normal top_ like a _bellend_.

If he was going to be dramatic about it, he'd say he thought _Dez_ was one the worst people he'd ever met, _ever_. And he'd met Simon Cowell.

Danny went to take another sip of his lager but realised his glass was empty. Maybe it was time to go home...

‘Dan, love,’ Doris caught his attention, again; nudging his shoulder. Fisher was now engrossed in an argument with Walker about how big Alsatian-Husky crosses grew. ‘How’re you faring?’

‘Fine,’ he lied. She frowned at him.

‘Is that right?’

‘Aye.’

‘’Cause you don’t look fine. Got a face like a wet weekend,’ she stated simply.

He sighed.

‘I dunno what’s wrong,’ he shrugged and spun his empty pint glass. ‘Just som’ings not right. Maybe my chest’s playing up or...’

He couldn’t think of anything else to say so he shrugged again.

‘Look, Dan. I know there’s something up. Per’aps it’s got a little to do with that injury but I reckon it’s got a lot more to do with our Angel and that new’un.’

Danny shrugged again. The glass made a strange _whumm_ noise as it revolved on the table so he made eye contact with that rather than Doris. She laid a hand on his arm. He kept spinning the glass.

_Whumm whumm..._

‘He’s allowed to have other friends,’ he said sulkily.

_Whumm whumm whumm..._

‘Oh, yes. He is,’ she agreed. ‘But I reckon it’s more’n friends you’re after.’

_Whump._

‘Eh?’ he stared at her. ‘What d’ya mean? Like...’ he trailed off, unable to think of an example.

‘There are some things that ‘appen in the big city and they think they don’t ‘appen here. They think certain ideas ain’t got out to us yet but they have. They may not be thought in the same words, though. We may not use correct terms for ‘em but that doesn’t mean people don’t have the same feelings.’

Danny felt a bit light headed. He didn’t think it was the beer.

‘Think about it, is all I’m saying,’ said Doris, sagely.

‘Think about what?’

‘Angel. Friendship. Everything. Think about everything, Dan.’

* * *

That night, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Danny thought about everything. He thought about how friendships are supposed to be; how they’re supposed to feel. He thought about how other friendships hadn’t given him that warm, contented feeling that he felt when he was with Nick. He thought about girls and boys and how that was supposed be; how that was supposed to feel, and how it’d never felt that way.

Or had it? Maybe it had. He didn’t know any more.

Mostly, he thought about Nicholas.

He thought about nicknames and how it bothered him that _someone else_ was allowed to give him one. He thought about brilliant, shining smiles and how terrible they looked bestowed on another person. He thought about morning jogs and how being with another just before their breakfast felt like a betrayal of sorts. He thought about strawberry-blond hair, ruffled after longs days pouring over paperwork and how he’d always wanted to be the one to run his hands through it. He thought about broad, strong shoulders and how stupid they looked with someone else’s arm around them. He thought about in-jokes and shoot-outs; films nights and drinking sessions; falling asleep on the sofa and waking up with a head on his shoulder and a hand on his thigh.

He thought about Derek ( _Dez,_ for fuck’s sake) and about jealousy.

* * *

The next morning, after a night of not much sleep, Danny felt confused and tired.

He felt even more confused as he and Nicholas got changed into uniform, together, at the station.

Nicholas had stopped mid-change to search for something. He was stood topless in his pressed trousers and shiny shoes, chain glinting round his neck, frowning into his locker and Danny _just couldn’t stop staring_.

He had a crop of freckles over his shoulders and back that matched those on his toned forearms. His shoulder blades stood out in a way that Danny knew his didn’t. He had a trim waist and strong pectorals, born of his jogging habit. And Danny realised with a thud to his chest that _Nick was_ _gorgeous_.

If he was going to dramatic about it, Danny would’ve said that his stomach had just jumped off a cliff. _Shit_.

‘What?’ Nick’s voice brought him back to Earth. ‘What’s wrong? Have I got something on my face?’

His biceps stood out as he rubbed at his chin and neck.

‘No,’ Danny replied thickly. ‘Nah, you’re perfect, mate.’

_What a fucking stupid thing to say_. Nick blinked.

‘Well then, why—‘

‘I mean. You got it,’ Danny lied. ‘Bit of shaving foam...’

‘O...K,’ Nick fixed him with one of his _Well, Well, Well, What Have We Got Here, Then_ Looks. ‘Danny, are you feeling alright?’

‘Yeah. No. I’m fine. Just…’ he scrabbled around in his head. ‘Painkillers. Sometimes make my head all…’

‘Fuzzy? Danny, maybe you should go home. The doctor said the painkillers may make you a bit light-headed and I’m not exactly thrilled with you being here if you can’t think straight.’

‘Don’t matter, does it? Since I’m not on the beat,’ he shot back hotly. ‘Just doing paperwork, ain’t I?’

Danny was suddenly, bafflingly livid. This was all Nicholas’ fault. All of it. Everything from Dez’s stupid… _stupidness_ to the way Danny’s heart beat so hard it was almost painful when he looked him. Or maybe that last part was Doris’ fault for _getting him to_ _think_.

A pained expression briefly crossed over Nicholas’ stupid, handsome face and Danny didn’t care.

Except he did. He really did. And that just made him angrier.

‘That’s not my fault, mate, and you know it. Official guidelines state—’

‘Yeah, yeah. Official guidelines know fucking everything, eh?’

And, before he could regret his harsh words, Danny strode out of the changing room, slamming the door behind him.

He thumped down on his chair and banged a fist on his desk just to let out some of the tension.

‘ _Oooooh_ ,’ the Andys sing-songed in unison.

‘What’s ruffled your _fuckers_ , Daniel?’ Wainwright asked through his cigarette.

‘Yeah? Lover’s tiff?’ sniggered Cartwright.

‘Piss off, the pair of you,’ Doris chastised them.

Danny didn’t care. He had more important things on his mind.

Namely: what the _fuck_ was he going to do?


End file.
